


The Fragile Flower

by frozenpapers



Category: Tangled (2010)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-27
Updated: 2014-12-27
Packaged: 2018-03-03 20:51:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2887457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frozenpapers/pseuds/frozenpapers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They're lost in the vast seas of black and white plaques, he playing the role of a pawn and she playing the role of the queen. They're playing chess with each other, observing how the other makes their move, without knowledge that their marriage is sinking like a ship lost in the Arctic ocean.</p><p>It's a quaint turn from their happily ever after, a twist that shakes both off their feet.</p><p>But they say it takes two to tango, but is she willing to wear her finest shoes for another dance with fate?</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Fragile Flower

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ...bring back what once was mine

After two years of marriage, their relationship had been nothing but  _whimsical_. Sprouts of their personality sprung every encounter they had with each other, and in turn they regarded them like circus clowns in the most optimistic way ever.

Of course as royalties, their time together had been decreased from everything to the early wink of day and the exhausted blink of night. Therefore, with their little information about the likes of each, they became like phantoms in their own marriage. Less and less, they've become the strangers they were too afraid to be.

By year three, the butterflies to her stomach had reduced to winged bones as for his romantic tarts, they had been deflated, the romantic tarts turning into sour green pies. Trust and honesty turned into doubt and bitter white lies. Their love turned into duty, and in duty, they became restless forest pigs that pulled and scratched at whatever was left on the surface. The flower that blossomed in them had turned into a handful of dust, dust that was carried in a jar of dreams. Fortunately for them, the lid hadn't yet been toppled over and the cold wind was of absence.

By the six month stomp of year three, the lovely princess's sobs reverberated throughout the castle as his promises had withered into spineless birds and wingless doves. The prince consort had graced the castle so little of his presence as he had spent most of his royal hour wandering away with the head horse of the palace into the deep rustles of the forest. How often he found himself outside of the tower that brought them together, thinking of what went wrong and what should be done to fix the broken mirror that was their marriage. Everything was wilting away, slipping from their fingers like soap. He didn't know what to do as he often dealt with repairs with bare hands. He knew the situation in hand wasn't a broken roof, and so he sat with his hands on his head, thinking  _and thinking_   **and thinking**  until it was time to go back to his wife.

By year four, the idea of a child was a new toy presented to a five year old. It wasn't that they wanted someone to share their undying love with, but it was to mend the broken seams that were slowly becoming brittle pieces of saw. Crude, but it was their only hope to bring back what once was theirs. There were other ways, said the elderly of Corona, but the princess was determined, the flame of hope in her eyes nothing but a burnt wick. The song her  _mother_  had taught her wasn't of use, and she knew this as she no longer had the long golden hair to bring back what once was hers.

By the fifth slap of year four, the royal couple was blessed with a child. They were rekindled, and their marriage had taken the heights it should've had if it weren't for the circumstances. The lingering wails of the princess were no longer available for a listen, and the man who wasted away his hours in the forests had returned home. But, the sour green pies and the winged bones hadn't left the couple entirely. They still resented the insensitivity that reeked off of one another. They kept silent, of course, but it didn't mean that their thoughts weren't aflame.

By the cold bites of the depressing last eclipse of year four, the baby was lost to an unfortunate illness she had nurtured for so long lest she lost the baby. With this foolishness, she kept it to herself and had succumbed into depression. The effervescence in her soul had died down to a whisper. She became hollow, more concave than she was before. She didn't regard the warmth her husband had often offered, unconsciously returning warmth with ice. She turned to the black hole that her troubles had created and continued to punish herself. Unbeknownst to her that she was also punishing her husband with the phantom she was countering him with.

By year five, she was back in her mechanical ways whilst he was trying so hard to pull her back with him. Unfortunately, there wasn't any success, and he was left in the care of her parents who knew nothing much less than he did about her.

**. . .**

On the afternoon of that very year, the prince consort had taken upon himself to fix the crack on their marriage. There was some sort of flicker at the back of his hazel eyes that convinced him that he'd be able to tango all by himself. There wasn't any stain of an idea in his royal mind, but he decided to pursue. He couldn't let their relationship crumble like a thousand year old tower without maintenance. He promised her an eternity filled with love and happiness, he'd be damned if he didn't live to that vow. He had a code, and he was going to live by it howbeit he'd become the sturdy old rock underneath the castle. He wasn't going to let the dusts of their marriage flow into the seams of the cruel wind. Moreover, he was still knee deep in the mire. The butterflies were still there and his fervent ardor for her hadn't yet died, only dimmed. Ergo, it was his mission to save both of them from their catastrophic ways.

He slipped outside of their room, holding onto dear faith, praying to the God who had united them for the right words. He couldn’t afford to lose her, not when she’s already slipping away from him and taking the world he had built with her. With a sigh, he carried his legs towards the library she drowned herself in, hoping he’d be able to bring back the Rapunzel that once was his.

He stood by the opened door, his heart cymbals and drums to his ear. He swallowed the fear that bobbed effervescently in his throat as he let his feet drag him towards what he thought was right. He usually knew what to do when the situation in hand was not bearable, and it was to run, to escape, to cut the loose ends. But he wasn’t Flynn Ryder anymore, he was Eugene Fitzherbert. And Eugene Fitzherbert, well, he couldn’t cut the only thing that had steered his ship away from the path he was always taking. If he did, he’d be lost. He didn’t want to be lost, especially when he was lost without her. She had helped him found himself, and he in return as a loving husband, would help her find herself again even if it meant pulling at impossible ends. He wasn’t going to let her become a prisoner of her own unfathomable sorrow. He had broken her free once, it wouldn’t be impossible to do so again. There wasn’t any Mother Gothel nor was there the castle guards standing in his way. It’d be easy.

_Or so he thought._

In the vast seas of black and white, he finally made a move like a pawn. The thick line of sweat trickled down his spine as he felt himself being suffocated by just one move. He swallowed the ball of dust that lathered his tongue and horse to the white plaque of the board. It should be easy as he was the husband, as he was her other half. It should be easy for him to hop towards the white path towards the queen chess piece; after all, he knew more of her than anyone did. But it wasn’t since he felt more like the stranger who had landed upon the tall tower that stood dominantly in front of the majestic waterfall. Howbeit he was that stranger, he couldn’t gather the courage and the confidence that stranger had given her. He couldn’t reach that stranger. Therefore with all the pain that twisted in his chest, he admitted to himself that he was indeed lost, standing in between the lives of Eugene Fitzherbert and Flynn Ryder. But there was one thing these two lives shared, and it was perseverance, and so, albeit he knew there wouldn’t be progress, he walked towards the brunette with haste and sat beside her.

He placed a comforting hand on her stiff shoulder and tried a smile. “Hey Blondie,” he was surprised by the stability of his voice and was relieved to have heard the confidence that lingered on those two words. Nonetheless, he kept his triumph quiet, knowing that those two words were the beginning of something he didn’t quite know.

She let out a maddened sigh as she nudged his hand off of her shoulder. When his hand fell limp to the side, his world followed suit. He was beginning to submerge into the thick greeneries of the forests.

“You know, I think we should talk about our relationship.” His voice grew small as he persuaded himself from looking at his hand. He could feel the prickle of tears at the edges of his eyes, knowing that all was lost.

She gave out another sigh. “I don’t think we should talk about it.” She stood up from her perch, the green book serving as a distraction to her singing nerves.

“Why not?” most of him wanted to stay put and just watch the show he had brewed, but Eugene Fitzherbert didn’t always go with the most. He stood from where he was seated and walked towards the shelf, staring at her back, praying, praying, and praying that this wasn’t what it looks like.

She laughed humorlessly, the tears in the edges of every howl. “Don’t you think it’s perspicuous that a divorce is on its way? Surely by now you’d see that we’re incompatible.” She shrugged as if it meant nothing to her.

By now, his voice was breaking. He couldn’t handle the pain that pierced his heart like a dagger. It was worse than Mother Gothel’s stab at the side, worse than death itself. He placed his hand on the shelf for support for his knees were buckling.

“Blondie –”

She faced him with tears in her eyes, the green in them threatening. “Don’t call me that, please. I can’t take it.”

He ignored her. “It’s just a bump in the road. We can work this out.”

She hesitated, but then remembered the years they’ve spent together. “We can’t. This isn’t just some – some wound I can sing to.” She was holding her head now, the tears rivers down her cheeks, the pain burning on her chest like flames.

“I know; which is why I’ll help you. We’ll get through it.” He was pulling at desperate cards, but he didn’t care, he wanted his Blondie back.

She placed a hand on her damp face and shook her head. “We can’t.”

His heart was on the table now and his ace playing the small trick of invisibility. “It wouldn’t hurt to try.”

She clutched at her heart and turned her back from him. “But it hurts now.” She sighed as she tried to contain the mewl that was effervescently kicking at the lid of her emotions. “Please leave.” She whispered. It was a silent plea that was more of a feather on a rock.

**. . .**

That night, he slept in the stables, unable to decipher what had made her push him away just like that. He muttered a silent prayer – all his days are filled with prayers – to the God that united them, hoping there was a way to bring back what once was theirs.

At the quick kiss of three in the morning at that night on that damned year, a shooting star so bright woke him from his deep slumber. He watched it glow above the heavens as he hoped that this was some sign given by the Higher Power. When the streak of light was still aglow and the star seemed to pierce the stark sky in such a slow pace, he was convinced that his prayers were answered, and so he wished fervently for what he wanted the most.

If the floating lanterns had brought them together, maybe the shooting star would – crazy as it sounds.


End file.
